What Happens Now
by valix33
Summary: Sequel to Open Air. Now that the boys are back stateside, they start trying to wipe away the memories of what they've done. What they find is it's not so easy to bury the nightmares haunting their minds. Warning- Contains PTSD
1. Chapter 1

**Sorry it took so long to start this story, had to try and figure out what I was going to do with it. I know this is a super short chapter for such a long wait, but hopefully I'll start updating more regularly again. Hope you enjoy it! I don't own anything I don't own.**

Don had forgotten how alone he was. Spending those three years locked in a tank with four other men had erased the memory of a small box he lived in by himself. When he finally got home it was only to find that the world had moved on without him. His house had been sold to someone else; his job had been taken over while he was away. It was almost as if he'd really died in Germany.

The government had decided that most of their veterans would get enough money to get back on their feet, so he wasn't lacking for resources. He wasn't sure what to do with himself, where to go or what to do with this money they were promising. It didn't seem right to stay here in Oregon, feeling like a stranger that didn't belong anymore. That was how he found himself packing everything into a duffel bag and sitting on the bench at the bus station. People gave him a curious look as they passed by, until there came one that he recognized.

"Don Collier, so you survived after all?" inquired an elderly man. Harold had lived in the neighborhood for his entire life, longer than anyone else Don knew. Before the war the two had been friendly enough, and Harold had been one of the few people to see Don off when the draft came. It was fitting that they had come into contact once more.

"By the skin of my teeth, I assure you. How've you been, Harold?"

"Chaotic beyond belief. War took a lot out of everyone, but you'd know that already. What are you doing here? You just got back and you're leaving again."

"Things have changed Harold. I don't think I can pretend that everything's normal again just because I want them to be. There's somewhere else I need to be."

"I'm going to miss seeing you around here." The older man clapped Don on the shoulder and Don offered a friendly wave in return, the last familiar face he'd see walking away.

When the bus finally arrived he paid his fee and took his seat, his destination much farther than the rest of the passengers aboard. Strangers kept looking at him, the battle scarred soldier with his dog tags still around his neck. People he knew had looked at him that way too, the look of surprise. It was as if no one was supposed to come back, all the soldiers were supposed to die overseas. Maybe in some other time he hadn't survived. But he paid no mind. All that he was thinking about was where he was going, and who he had to find when he got there. He had lots of time, just enough memories to fill that time.

"The damn krauts want us to lose our minds in here. I'm not going to let that happen to me, what about the rest of you?"

"You two are going to take care of these bodies. Pile them up, and burn them."

"They don't want anyone to survive; they want an excuse to kill us all."

"Do you trust me, Norman?"

"With my life, sir."

"Saving these tags, it makes me feel like I'm doing some kind of good in here."

"Kill us if you want, but that boy is ours and no one will harm a hair on his head."

"This is my domain. I kill who I please, I torture who I please, and there is no one on God's earth who can stop me."

"Sarge, are we going to see each other again?"

"I never say goodbye, Norman. I never will." He snapped out of his memories as a sign passed by his window telling him that the bus was leaving town. Next stop Pittsburgh.

 **This story is mainly going to be about Don and Norman, but all of the Fury crew will be featured in this story and we'll see how they try and get back to normal. Let me know what you thought.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey everyone, long time no see. It's been really difficult working on this story this year or any of my other stories for that matter, so you guys definitely deserve an explanation. My grandfather passed away at the beginning of the year. He was the one who took me to see Fury in theaters when it first came out, and for a lot of months it was too hard for me to return to working on something that brought back a lot of memories. But I felt awful that all the people who were waiting for me to update this, people who had been loyally following the story since the first one. This update isn't very long and it's somewhat rough, but I hope I'll get less rusty as it goes on.**

When his clothes were on it was difficult see the damage that the war had done to Norman. But as he slipped into the bath, the wounds were clearly visible. His leg still hadn't fully healed from the gunshot and he would frequently lose his footing if he tried to move too quickly. Scars remained marking his skin like memories that always wanted to linger, lining his entire upper body. The worst damage that he tried to hide was the permanent burn seared over his back, spelling the name of his nightmares.

The warm water did little to soothe the pain but he was grateful for it anyway. Spending all that time in Fury, he hadn't been able to feel clean in months. There was so little he could actually find joy in since he got back so the peaceful time he got when no one would bother him was appreciated. Neighbors, strangers, and kids he had used to know, everyone stared at him like a shadow. And he felt like one. No one wanted to talk to the broken soldier so people just avoided him entirely.

The worst part was the few people that he wanted to talk to were so far away that he hadn't seen them once since they left the outpost in France. He'd received a couple of letters here and there, just enough that he knew the others were alive and well. London and Annette were living together in her old home, from what he heard they were quite happy together. The others had all returned to where they'd been living before the draft had called them away. It was a ridiculous thought, but after all they'd been through Norman had carried the small hope that the tank crew would stick together. Even Sarge hadn't contacted him regularly as he had promised, and the silence was driving him insane. If he wasn't there already.

"Norman!" a familiar voice boomed at him from the other room, so he quickly pulled on his clothes and left the bathroom. On the way out, he caught a glimpse of his reflection. Eyes hollowed out, malnourished frame, scratches everywhere. The face he saw was still a boy's, but everything else seemed like it would belong to someone he didn't recognize. Did anyone still recognize him?

In his living room stood an imposing man with a clean cut appearance, Leonard Ellison. Since he was a boy, Norman could remember looking up into the hawk-like gaze of his father trying not to tremble under the judgmental eyes. Of course he knew that was how Leonard showed affection, by making his son earn it instead of babying him like the fathers of the other boys. Or at least that was what he told himself. Regardless, there had been a slight change since Norman had returned home. There was a gleam of pride that Norman had seen none too often before, no doubt influenced by the military uniform that he had been wearing upon arrival. Still, his father expected him to uphold the Ellison reputation upon his reintegration into society and Norman was doing his best to keep up with expectations.

"Sorry, I lost track of time," he said, avoiding contact with his father's eyes for more than a few seconds.

"No matter," replied Leonard. "I merely wanted to talk to you about your adjustment and how it's been. You know I'm not giving you a free pass to stay in my house as long as you please. Eventually you'll have to be making your own ends meet, be a regular citizen."

"Yes, sir. I know you managed to get me into college classes this semester, and I'll make sure I keep up my grades in everything."

"And don't forget about finding employment, I know you won't be able to pay your entire tuition but you'll contribute as much as you're able." Norman just nodded his head as Leonard put an arm around him. "I want you to know I've been impressed by how much you've grown, Norman. I'll admit I never thought a boy like you would ever see battle, but when I heard that you were actually on the battlefield, defending our country. You're finally becoming a man. Just think, a young handsome soldier with the rest of his life ahead of him. There shouldn't be a woman in town who wouldn't be interested in you."

"Thanks dad," Norman squeaked, his father completely oblivious to how uncomfortable he felt hearing all this talk about his planned future. Things before had felt so immediate, and even before he'd been drafted he'd been an adolescent in high school and the future was farther away. But as usual, he didn't muster up the courage to say any of these things.

"Well, I'm off. You should get out of the house today." Leonard grabbed his hat and his coat, walking briskly out the front door. Then Norman realized he was alone again, and returned to his bedroom.

For the months that he'd been overseas, his father had left the room untouched so there had been some cleaning to do when he returned. Overall it was very simplistic, Norman didn't feel the need to have anything that wasn't his furniture taking up space. Though he'd never say it Leonard probably hoped he would have some typical male things in his possession, posters of Hollywood starlets, baseball, but Norman didn't feel that attached to any of those things. Or anything much at all, for that matter. He sat on his bed and stared up at the ceiling, trying to think of anything that wasn't the railroad of nightmares travelling right on schedule through his thoughts.

"Why do you deserve to go home?" The sharp tone clicked in his brain and his heart began to race. Standing next to his bed with the same cold stare was the very man who had beaten him all those weeks, Faust. Norman tried multiple times to blink him away, but it wasn't working.

"W-what are you doing here?" he asked with a quivering voice. It was as if he could feel his old wounds being inflicted on him again.

"Look at the sniveling mess you are," growled Faust. "I thought I'd beaten that out of you. Stupid American boy, I knew I should have shot you when I had the chance."

"You're not here. I know you're not." Norman forced the memory into his brain, Faust couldn't be in front of him because Faust had killed himself back in Germany. And then the hallucination took on the shape of his memory, Faust grew a bullet hole in his head but he remained with his eyes wide open locked on Norman.

"I'm not here, but yet you still see me." Faust moved forward as if to grab Norman again and the boy cringed. Just as he was beginning to think the vision would never go away, there was a ringing at his door. When he opened his eyes, Faust was again gone.

Shaken to his core, Norman tried to control his trembling as he went to the door. For a while it had seemed like Faust had left him alone, that the only part of the dead man left was his words. But Norman couldn't deny that he had envisioned him vividly, still remembering every feature that he had seen before. Absentmindedly, he opened his door and it took a minute to register who he was looking at.

"Hey Norman," the gruff soldier said as Norman stared in disbelief.

"Sarge?" He couldn't tell if this was a hallucination as well, maybe something he had imagined because he had wished for it.

"Well, don't just stand there soldier," Don barked. His rough hands clutched Norman and brought him into an embrace, one hand on his back and the other hand in his hair. This wasn't a hallucination, his friend was really on his doorstep. Norman rested his head on Don's shoulder, feeling tears come out of his eyes. There was no one he would rather see, and at least for a moment the silence was gone.

 **So it's probably obvious at this point that there will be a lot of PTSD involved in this story, especially for Norman. I really loved writing the reunion part and I want to get back into the process of regularly updating but it might take a couple of chapters. I know I have probably worn out all your forgiveness at this point but I hope you might have a little bit more and I'll try and make it up to you all. Let me know what you thought.**


End file.
